Witch Doctor?

Dr Saturday Night Fever, O's surgeon, takes me into his office last week. He had a slightly paternalistic look on his face, which annoys me because he's younger than me. Or looks younger, which is even worse. He flings his jacket on the chair in the disco manner that earned him his name, and assumes a grave voice. O has to have another operation, he tells me. And this one is a biggie.

He procedes to explain that they want to reposition a lot of her muscles. The operation is finicky and long, and she'll need to be in hospital for ten days. Plus it only has a fifty percent chance of succeeding. Then he starts drawing diagrams which remind me of my high school biology teacher, a woman with a nervous tic and halitosis. I realise I am trying to distract myself from the blow he's just delivered. I leave his office feeling like swinging his jacket around his neck and tightening it. Ever so slowly. Little O smiles at him and I can't help but suspect her judgement.

So now, we're getting A Second Opinion. It's quite political, this second opinion caper. Doctor SN Fever is getting a bit defensive about it. I'm always intrigued by people's egos. I suppose a lot of doctors are used to being revered, so they're put out if you question them. Probably why I fantastise about becoming doctor. That, and those bossy secretaries you're assigned who look like they've been sucking a lemon for fourty years straight.

To try earn some dosh, which we'll need for all of O's medical expenses, I've been doing an incy bit of copy writing. Am not yet ready to get back into anything full time so this suits for now, but I'm finding that I can't do any work with O around. Hence, looking for a nanny. Which is its own little half hour mini-drama. Have asked R to consider people-smuggling as a side business. That way, I can exploit refugees and create underground nanny-house in manner of whorehouse but with time out for tea and a community atmosphere (sing-alongs, bingo nights, pin the tail on the immigration minister).

I've also got to get another draft of the ball and chain screenplay done. Have reworked the first act and am awaiting feedback from Script Editor. Grrrroan. Wish I could just set aside a month and work only on that, but now's not the time. These little buggers may be demanding, but the thought of putting O in full time day care now is totally unappealing. Apart from the fact that she couldn't tell me if she was having a crap time, I'd miss her too much. She's such fun to be around.

Do you think the doctor could operate on me instead of her? They must have invented some osmotic surgical process by now. I'm pretty sure I saw it on "Beyond 2000" in the eighties...